A Tale of Two Storybrookes
by darcyfarrow
Summary: Storybrooke without the storybook is far from the bliss Regina had expected, but never underestimate someone acting for their child.


**_Future 1_**

"Are you quite sure about this, dear?" Gold studied her closely, no trace of his trademark condescension in his voice. The question was unnecessary, a tactic to delay something he lacked the confidence to attempt.

"I have to do something about where we're headed," Regina anwered. "You can see that, can't you? If I don't, he'll be dead in a year."

Gold nodded. As uncertain as he felt about their ability to pull off her plan, he couldn't deny the necessity of urgent and extreme action. Regina was right: if they didn't do something big, and now, seventeen-year-old Henry, drop-out, brawler, two-bit drug dealer and borderline addict, wouldn't see eighteen. Neither of them could allow that, not the mother who loved her adopted son, nor the ersatz attorney who had arranged the adoption. It was their responsibility to save Henry; it was their fault he was in trouble in the first place.

"He deserves a second chance," Regina added.

"But do we?"

"This isn't for us, Gold. Now, will you help me or not?"

"I've never attempted anything of this magnitude," Gold finally admitted. "I'm not even sure it can be done. To cross time. . . .I'll have to study on it, experiment–"

"Don't take too long."

"Rushing would only make matters worse. No one knows the consequences of an alteration of past events; even a seemingly small change could wipe out entire threads of history. I've only just brought magic to this world; I've learned it doesn't work the same way here, but I haven't had sufficient time to figure out what adjustments need to be made. Without thorough experimentation, we could end up destroying the town."

"We could end up saving it." Regina shuddered. "Heny's life is in danger! Besides, this isn't much of a living, not even for you or me."

"We have money, position, comfort."

"But we don't have our sons." She lowered her voice, for, although she had woken Gold from the curse so that he could help her save Henry, everyone else was still under its spell. "If you could go back in time and do something to keep your son with you, wouldn't you? No matter what the risk?"

"Give me time to study the problem," he said at last.

* * *

Weeks later, he came to her black-and-white office one night, after her staff had gone home, and although they were alone in the building, he closed the door. She understood then he'd found a solution, and she smiled as she invited him to sit.

"Even combining our powers, we haven't enough magic to reverse time, nor to send anyone back, even for a few minutes. If we had sufficient magic, it would be foolish to try. Most physicists believe that it's not possible for two versions of the same person to coexist in time: one of them would cease to exist."

Air gushed from her lungs and she slumped back in her leather chair.

"But"–she sat up straight again as he continued. "Ironically, in your desire to revenge yourself upon all who had wronged you, you happened to bring a portal jumper to Storybrooke. I managed to borrow his portal long enough to run some tests, and I believe, between the three of us, we can produce enough magic to transport an object through time."

Regina pursed her lips in thought. "An object. Something simple, something that would attract Henry's attention, something that would inspire him."

"Enlighten him," Gold amended. "Show him the path he should follow, to become the man Fate means him to be." He watched her for a moment before he came to the hard part: "Regina, he needs to find out who he truly is."

Her eyes clouded as she realized, "The grandchild of Snow White."

"And the son of the curse breaker." He tightened his grip on his cane. "What you need to ask yourself, Regina, is how much are you able to sacrifice for love?"

* * *

Behind the locked doors of the mayor's office, Regina and Gold stood to one side as the newly awakened Jefferson, hat tucked under his arm, positioned himself in the center of the floor. "I want to hear it from him." He nodded at Gold. "I want your word, Rumplestiltskin; consider this a deal that you're in on too."

"Oh for crying out–"

But Gold interrupted Regina's protest. "You have my word, portal jumper. When you have delivered the book, whatever happens, Regina and I will do everything within our combined power to reunite you and Grace."

Jefferson nodded sharply and set his hat on the floor.

"May I?" Gold indicated the leather-bound book cradled in Regina's arms. She hesitated, but at last let him take the book and flip through it. "Lovely illustrations," he remarked. "Is my story included?"

"It's in there somewhere," she said breezily.

"Considering you wrote these stories without permitting any input from me–"

"Well, the book is for my son, not yours."

"Just out of curiosity, is this a complete work of fiction, or would one find a modicum of history and biography in this book?"

The mayor narrowed her eyes. "I wrote this book for Henry's benefit. I told the truth."

A millisecond of surprise flickered across his face, but all he said was "Indeed?"

She took the book back, stroking its cover protectively. "He only hates me now. And yes, when he reads this, he'll fear me. That's what will drive him to look for his birth mother. When he brings her to Storybrooke, what you foresaw will come to pass. When he learns the truth about all of us, he'll discover the hero he was meant to be."

As reward for her honesty, he assured her, "You've made the right choice, Regina. A parent's choice." He permitted her to see regret in his eyes, and she suspected he was thinking of a second chance he wished he could have. "This book will be Henry's salvation, and in the long run, yours and mine."

The hat began to spin, a blue light emanating from it. Jefferson knelt beside it. "All right, I'm ready. Give me the book." Regina placed the book in his hands, and he took a moment to admire the gold embossed title. "_Once_ _Upon_ _a_ _Time_. Okay, stand by, sorcerers."

Regina and Gold gathered around the hat. They summoned magic to their fingertips, ready to take action in case something went wrong. Jefferson clutched the book in one hand, the hat brim in his other hand, and he leaned in. "Here goes." He slipped the book into the blue void.

"Is it working?" Regina asked. "Can you–"

But before she could finish her inquiry, Storybrooke experienced a sudden and total blackout.

* * *

_**Future 2**_

Something's off, the pawnbroker thinks as he unlocks his shop and flips on the flourescent lights. He knows every square inch of this shop; after all, he's spent ten hours a day, every day for–well, however many years, in this little building. He feels it before he sees it, that something's here that shouldn't be. Hastily he examines the cash register–it hasn't been opened–and the windows and doors–no sign of break-in. Still, he's thinking of phoning Sheriff Humbert, when a tote-bag wielding young woman in a pixie cut dashes in. "Oh, Mr. Gold, I know you don't open until ten, but this is sort of an emergency."

He flashes a teasing smile. "I've never encountered a pawnshop emergency before, Ms. Blanchard. But how may I help you?"

"It's one of the children in my class, Henry," she wrings her hands.

"The mayor's son. What about him?"

"He's been so depressed and withdrawn lately, and it's affecting his schoolwork."

"Perhaps you should speak to his mother."

"I've tried. Anyway, I just found out that yesterday was his birthday. Ms. Mills threw a party for him, but the only person who showed up was his therapist."

"Poor lad." Gold walks behind his counter; he senses a sale coming on.

"Well, I just have to bring him a gift, you see." The teacher scans the shelves looking for something suitable for a ten-year-old (and affordable for a schoolteacher).

Gold knows his stock like he knows his own name (except for his first name, which neither he nor anyone else has ever spoken). He starts to slide open the glass door of the counter; he has a Batmobile model kit that Henry's admired.

But Ms. Blanchard exclaims, "This! This is perfect." She's running her fingers across the leather cover of a big book. Gold frowns: that book doesn't belong here. It wasn't here yesterday. But Ms. Blanchard already is cradling the book. "I'll take it–err, that is, what's the price for this book?"

His practiced eye evaluates the book but he comes up empty. He's never seen one like it. But for some reason, he feels compelled to give the teacher a break. "Twenty dollars." Ah well, the next time the mayor buys something, he'll just jack up the price.

"Twenty? It seems it ought to be worth more."

"It's nothing special," he shrugs. "Just a mass-marketed book of fairy tales."

She thanks him, hands him a twenty and rushes off to class. He frowns at the place on the counter where the book had lain. He wonders if Humbert could take fingerprints from the glass; maybe they could find out who got into the shop last night and left that book, and why and how.

Then Gold decides against the idea. He doesn't really want the sheriff poking around here. Besides, Gold is now twenty bucks richer. He opens the cash register, enjoying the pretty cha-ching of the bell. He has a special fondness for bells.

Three days later a yellow Beetle drives into town.


End file.
